In Bushes
by Lacuna Miyamoto
Summary: Morgana is up to her old tricks and Merlin has some new ones. It ends in fun for the both of them. I might make it a drabble collection.


So, this is just something I thought up. Clearly. I just enjoy some fun. The Merlin fandom can be so… bone-crushing sad sometimes.

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They were ambushed on the way to some distant village. They hadn't known, of course, but now it was clear that the whole thing had been a trap and the said village, being ravaged by some mythical creature, probably didn't even exist. Clever, though it was, Merlin was not impressed. The good thing about being ambushed in the woods, was that however big Morgana's troops were, they couldn't be much larger than Arthur's. There just wasn't the room for it.

From his spot just behind and to the left of Arthur, Merlin had a wonderful view of the encroaching front line as it parted to let Morgana take the front. She smirked at Arthur, who sat rigid and silent on his steed, glaring at her for all he was worth. Merlin frowned and glanced up at his horse, who was glaring at him with one wide eye as if this was all his fault. Merlin glared back, insulted. He'd dismounted for whatever asinine reason just moments before the bandits had showed up, and now he was at an unbelievable disadvantage.

Unless, of course… He cupped his hands to his mouth.

"HEY MORGANA!" Everybody turned to stare at him, but the sudden change in Morgana's demeanor was much more alarming.

"_**YOU**_!" She shrieked, and with an amazing show of dexterity, leapt from her horse, hitched her dress about her hips and took off running after Merlin at a frankly impressive clip in one fell swoop. Apparently her rage went beyond magic and demanded the satisfaction of pure, physical confrontation. Merlin's cackling laughter did not ease anyone's worries as he darted off.

Neither side moved. Both watched as Morgana executed a brilliant flying tackle, caught Merlin in the back of the legs and sent them both tumbling in a knot of limbs down an embankment and into the underbrush. Arthur and the Leader of the bandits glanced at each other with a look of equal confusion. The leader shrugged dismissively. Apparently the loss of his patron was of no concern to him. He just wanted a good licking. The fight exploded outward.

It didn't last very long. These things didn't, generally.

Arthur pulled his sword out of the last bandit and stood, panting and covered in blood. First were his knights, only a few of which hadn't survived the battle. The problem now was the distinct difference between horse and rider. All but eight of the horses had been felled by arrows and even a spear or two.

And then Merlin was beside him, red faced and panting and looking very, very pleased with himself.

"Merlin! You're alive! Where's Morgana?" He gasped, clasping Merlin's upper arms and glancing over him for any wounds Merlin might be ignoring. He didn't know what it meant when his manservant rolled his eyes to the side as if remembering a fond memory.

"Oh, don't worry. Her… _lust_ for revenge has been… _satisfied_ for the time being." Merlin announced smugly, fiddling suspiciously with his neckerchief. Arthur narrowed his eyes.

"What does _that_ mean?"

"It means she was rather angry and I had a miserable time of it." Merlin muttered vaguely, wandering over to Gawain who also looked very pleased with himself. He watched as his knight slung an arm around Merlin and then laughed uproariously at whatever the manservant said to him. In the middle of a sea of bodies. Arthur shook his head.

His people could be so damn odd.

They moved on quickly enough, because Morgana was less the type to fabricate a monster when she could just as easily set one loose, so, while it might have been a trap, there still was a chance that there was a village being attacked by some giant goat or whatever.

Meaning that half an hour later, after supplies had been gathered from the enemy, Arthur and his men were already gone. Good for Morgana who crept up the slope unsteadily, pulling herself up by roots and branches in her way.

When she finally righted herself, rosy cheeked and swaying happily from side to side, did she notice that all her men lay dead around her. Pushing her dress back into place and running her fingers through her knotted hair, she turned around, placing her feet as carefully as any drunk. To her other side, her men lay just as dead.

"Balls." She snapped, not sounding particularly conflicted.

She quickly disappeared into a small windstorm.

* * *

Yes. They had sex. Glorious, glorious hatesex. In case anyone was still wondering.


End file.
